


Feelings undeclared

by platinumnib



Category: Nightwish, Tarja, Within Temptation (Band)
Genre: Edging, F/F, Frustration, Masturbation, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinumnib/pseuds/platinumnib
Summary: Sharon thinks about Tarja quite a lot. She shouldn't, but she does, and she touches herself.





	Feelings undeclared

Sharon Den Adel has a career, a companion and three kids, but thinking about them doesn’t help in the slightest. If anything, it worsens the guilt whenever she’s fantasizing about another married mother. And she has done so incessantly since the very first day she met Tarja.  


At first, she was confused, then afraid, then there was a three year long reprieve she used to remind herself how much Robert and the children all love her. After which they sang together onstage and all the butterflies came  fluttering back to her stomach, because they never really left.

Her family isn’t enough. She still thinks about Tarja in a way no taken woman should.

Her flawless image is drawn in minute detail inside Sharon’s mind, and it just won’t let her sleep. She rolls onto her side and screws her eyes shut to fend it off. Tarja’s perfect skin, pale and smooth; she wants to feel it flush and sweat against hers instead of a cold sheet. Tarja’s eyes, a beautiful green, honest and passionate; they always seem to bore into her right down to the soul. If they really could, they’d see a mad infatuation (and the lust it brings about) buried under guilt and shame.

Sharon can’t for the life of her stop thinking about Tarja. And she has the slightest bit of dampness between her legs to show for it.

She flings the linen off the bed in annoyance, sits up and clicks her bedside lamp on for soft light. She has to find some sort of relief from her inconvenient condition, because another sleepless night like yesterday’s won’t do.

She lies back down and takes a few slow breaths, squeezing her thighs together. The blue satin feels rather nice and soothing for a second, but then it makes the tingle even worse than before. Her hand finds its way under the waistband of her pyjama pants a moment before her eyelids drop shut.

At first, her two middle fingers draw slow, light circles over her privates; she’s in no hurry to get off. In fact, she’d rather draw things out. A minute later, her fingers are wet and the circles widen to reach her most sensitive nerves. She moans and swipes again at the spot that makes her shudder. Again, and again, until she’s forgotten about whatever might surround her.

All she sees is Tarja, so real in her mind she can almost feel her touch. It’s Tarja’s finger slipping into her while a soft thumb rubs her clit, and every stroke makes it tauten and twitch.

She gives a helpless moan, urging Tarja - urging herself - to go forth and add a second digit. Aided by her abundant sap, it sneaks all at once past her entrance and settles quite comfortably next to the other.

In unison, both nimble fingers begin to push in then pull out, curling upwards to touch a spot of lenient flesh that speckles her vision with white spots. As if it weren’t enough, the penetration sets the pace for an intense rubdown of her engorged nub.

As her voice takes a higher pitch, a bold hand creeps under her ample pyjama top. Her nipple is easy to find on account of being hard enough to cut glass.

Sharon arches her back at the sudden pinch, catching the bedsheet between her clenching toes. The long-awaited release is almost upon her.

But she can’t let it happen. She’s already lost much of her self-esteem and trampled what her marriage stood for by falling head over heels for someone she barely knew - for a woman, no less.

She can’t make herself guilty of the very last weakness.

Just as the first premonitory contraction takes over her body, her fingers, wet and slimy with cum, pull out of her pants. Her entrance throbs and squeezes around nothing. Just a touch, a feather-light touch would be enough to nudge her over the edge of the wonderful orgasm she will never have.

She squirms, kicks at the mattress and claws at her thighs not to touch herself where it would matter, shakes with angry frustration as the burning need within her womanhood is forced to go unfulfilled. Her desperate whimper of shame and want is muffled as best it can into a tear-soaked pillow.

Hopefully, Tarja hasn’t heard it from the next room; blissfully unaware as she is of what feelings she stirs in Sharon’s heart, she thought it convenient to book adjacent suites in case they needed to talk some more about tomorrow’s show beforehand.

As if Sharon could bear standing so close to her again. holding her hand before a crowd of thousands, fighting hard against the urge to kiss the fuck out of her perfect lips.

She stands up on wobbly legs, wipes her remaining tears with the back of her hand, and walks to the bathroom, shedding her matching pants and shirt along the way. Hastily, she washes away her sticky mess and the smell of sex clinging to her then stands under the cold stream for a few more minutes to quell the smolder left in her loins

 

  



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